


Hands

by Kelinswriter



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Sanvers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:58:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelinswriter/pseuds/Kelinswriter
Summary: Alex loved Maggie’s hands.For xlittlescorpion, I hope you enjoy.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xLittleScorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLittleScorpion/gifts).



Alex loved Maggie’s hands. 

The slender, tapered fingers, the tender webbing between the digits, the sharp crease of her lifeline. The freckles on the back of her hand, and the lighter patch of skin encircling her left ring finger, as if in permanent reminder of the titanium bands that Alex had put there, one on a warm July night, the other on a crisp November afternoon. 

Sometimes when they were working a case together, Alex would find herself distracted by the way Maggie’s hands shuffled through case files; the way she gripped her pen and ran her index finger over the pages, as if absorbing the words through her skin. Alex would think about those hands skimming across her body, those fingers tracing the angles of her face. Think about taking those fingers inside her mouth, inside _her_. 

At some point, J’onn would clear his throat, and she would glance up, heat rushing to her cheeks, to see him staring at her with a look that was equal parts uncomfortable and amused.

And then Maggie would kick her under the table and say, “Focus, Danvers. We have work to do.”

Then she would tilt her head to the side, and smirk just slightly, and when she slid the case file toward Alex, she would make sure that their hands touched.

Alex loved Maggie’s arms. 

The toned muscles, the fine downy hair, the smooth brown skin. The impossibly soft spot in the crease of her elbow, and the way she would jump when Alex nipped at it unexpectedly. And more freckles: Random specks of darker skin from shoulder to wrist, like unnamed constellations, waiting to be explored. 

When Alex had slithered, shivering and half-dead, out of the ice-cold water tank that had nearly been her tomb, the strength of those arms had cradled her like a newborn. Yet those same arms would dangle over Alex’s shoulders, weak and trusting, when Maggie surrendered fully to Alex’s touch.

Alex loved Maggie’s face.

Not because it was beautiful, though it was, but because it was the subtle mirror by which she read Maggie’s feelings. Alex had made it her life’s work to read every head tilt or quirk of an eyebrow, every curve of Maggie’s mouth or wrinkle of her nose. She loved to see Maggie’s dimples flash, and so she did her best to make Maggie laugh as often as she could.

But Alex also loved Maggie’s face in stillness; in both quiet concentration and calm contemplation. She loved to watch the firelight dance across Maggie’s skin when they were curled up in front of the fire, or to see the play of shadow across her skin as she drifted off to sleep. And there was nothing in the world so beautiful as waking to the sight of Maggie’s skin glowing gold in the sunlight filtering through their bedroom curtains. Alex would reach for her, one fingertip tracing down the length of her nose, and marvel at the softness of her skin. 

And then Maggie would crack one eye open and softly whisper, “Hey, Nerd,” before drawing her in for the first of many kisses.

The thought of kisses, morning or otherwise, made Alex remember how much she loved Maggie’s mouth. Not just when it was soft, as in the blossom of a shy smile, but when it was cold and hard too. It was a wonder, that mouth, giving away nothing, save for the occasional slight twitch in her cheek. Alex had watched more than one person lose their resolve and confess all when faced with Maggie’s mouth set in that implacable line.

(And having been on the other side of that implacable line a time or two, all Alex could think was, _Poor bastard._ )

But that mouth had other, much more active ways of making Alex come apart. And those ways were infinitely better than anything Alex could ever have imagined, back when she had gotten her first glimpse of what it could do.

What else? Maggie’s hair, of course; thick and dark, lustrous and shining. Sometimes when they were sitting on the couch together Alex would offer to brush it, if only to feel those delicate strands sliding between her fingers. But more than that, she loved when that hair was tickling and caressing her bare skin: her breasts, her stomach, the insides of her thighs. 

Once, Maggie had thrown out the idea of chopping her hair down to a more practical bob, and Alex had grown quiet, feeling guilty and selfish for not being supportive. It took the better part of two days, and half a bottle of Scotch, for Maggie to coax the truth out of Alex: That there were few things in the world she loved quite so much as the feel of those silken strands washing over her skin.

And Maggie had blushed a little, and smiled, and never brought up the subject again.

Yet Alex couldn’t forget Maggie’s breasts — God, her breasts. The first time Alex had seen them had been an epiphany; the first time she kissed them, a revelation. She hadn’t expected to love them so much; if she was being honest, it was how Maggie wore a pair of jeans, more than anything else, that first caught her attention. But now, she could spend whole nights exploring Maggie’s breasts and still not be satisfied. 

“Should have called you were a boobs girl, Danvers,” Maggie once said, and Alex had nodded and gone back to what she was doing, too absorbed in touch and taste to bother with actual words.

But it was when Maggie was on her stomach — when she was not just relaxed, but pliant — that Alex felt most sure as a lover. Not just because the backside of Maggie’s body was stunning — and oh, those hills and valleys, that endless expanse of skin — but because Maggie was trusting herself fully to Alex’s care. Alex knew how hard this was for Maggie; that it was easier for her to be the active partner, to be the one in control, to tease out all of Alex’s vulnerabilities rather than be vulnerable herself. She had nurtured Alex, coaxing her from a shy, timid lover into one who could rattle the headboard until it threatened to come apart. But it had taken time for Maggie to feel the same level of trust; time, and the gradual deepening of their relationship, for Maggie to be willing and open, and not just on a physical level.

And oh, the vistas that had opened up once Alex earned that trust.

She traced a fingertip down Maggie’s back now, watching the skin dimple and pucker in the shadowed half-light. The quiet whir of the standing fan opposite their bed was the only sound in the room, save for Maggie’s soft breathing, and Alex let herself fall into the rhythm of it, hearing a whispered prayer in each oscillation.

_Let it always be like this._

She knew there were probably worlds in which they were not together; worlds in which they had broken up, found other lovers, lived other lives. But she didn’t want to imagine those worlds; only this one, where the two of them were together, and in love, and as happy as two flawed, damaged humans were capable of being. 

Because in this world or any other, they were meant to be.

Her hand reached the small of Maggie’s back, and she tugged the sheet up before placing the flat of her hand across the base of Maggie’s spine. Her fingers splayed downward beneath the sheet, caressing the arc of that gentle curve. She had kissed it earlier; kissed and nipped it, as their bodies moved in a slow rhythm, point and counterpoint, while soft whimpers filled the air. 

Maggie let out a mewling noise, more of an exaggerated exhale than an actual cry. Her fingers caught at the sides of the pillow, clenched, slowly released. Her head turned, face tilting upward until Alex could see, through that curtain of hair, those dark, knowing eyes.

“Hey, Nerd,” Maggie whispered, and Alex leaned in, pressing a kiss to the midpoint of Maggie’s spine. 

“Hey.” Alex leaned back on her elbow and looked down at Maggie. There were words to express all she was feeling, right there on the tip of her tongue, but they were elusive at best, and far too small to convey what pulsed and swirled beneath her breastbone. That she loved Maggie with every fiber of her being; that she would give anything for a lifetime of moments like this. 

But what she said, instead, was, “I love your hands.”

Maggie squinted up at her, and Alex saw, beneath that slow smile, a tiny thread of uncertainty made manifest in that small bite to the inside of her bottom lip. “Are you getting soft on me, Danvers?”

“Maybe a little,” Alex whispered. 

Maggie’s smile broadened — that dimpled bite gone — and Alex saw parentheses form at either corner of her mouth. Saw Maggie’s left hand move, reaching upward to tuck an unruly lock of hair behind Alex’s ear. Saw Maggie’s hand lift upward until it caught at Alex’s cheek, caressing gently until Alex leaned forward, their mouths opening, deepening, until Alex wasn’t sure if she was breathing Maggie’s breath or her own.

“I love your hands, too,” Maggie whispered against her skin.

And then Alex was being drawn down, and then down, and down again, until the only thing that existed — the only thing that truly mattered, in all those infinite lifetimes of firsts — was Maggie’s hands.


End file.
